


Now I Gotta Contend With the Living Blues

by mrsronweasley



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Coda, M/M, Post 3x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/pseuds/mrsronweasley
Summary: "Eliot, Eliot, Eliot. Why do you care so much?"Julia has some questions for Q.





	Now I Gotta Contend With the Living Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Brooklinegirl & Giddygeek for their swift, thoughtful betas! Lea...this one's for you. :P

"Q, are you...okay? Q?"

Quentin's ears were still sort of ringing from hitting the wall when the Monster sent him flying, or maybe it was just the blood pounding in his ears from being nearly strangled. Whatever the reason, he only heard Julia on what he assumed to be her second try. "Uh--"

"Q, seriously, are you--what was that?" 

When Quentin finally turned around to look at her, Julia was closer than he had expected, watching him with a concern that was both entirely familiar and rather new. 

He cleared his throat--it scraped--then lumbered towards the kitchen, or, to be more precise, towards where he knew Marina kept the good shit.

"Q, did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Julia was right on his heels, which he had never found to be annoying before. When he finally reached for the bourbon, carefully not thinking about it being Eliot's drink of choice during particularly shitty times, she was ready with two ornate tumblers. Once he reached over to pour, though, she pulled the glasses away. "Uh-uh. You don't get to drink until you tell me what the fuck just happened. That was--way too intense, even for you."

Quentin held her gaze as he swigged bourbon straight from the bottle. Her only reaction was a quirk of an eyebrow. 

"If you won't talk, I'll start guessing."

Quentin felt his entire being sag down in defeat. Julia always won at that game, because her ridiculous imagination never tired of coming up with the most annoying and bizarre scenarios. Usually Quentin was forced to admit what was bothering him or flee the room screaming, and he had energy to neither scream nor flee. "Fine." 

Julia was already extending the glasses, smug face firmly back on. She led them towards the living room where Quentin gratefully collapsed onto the couch and drained his glass in one go, still clutching the bottle in his other hand.

After he came up from coughing, Julia's fist gently beating more bruises into his back, he refilled it again.

Julia stilled the hand with the glass as it made a trajectory towards his mouth. "Q, you promised. Talk."

He couldn't look at her, so he focused on the wall with the fireplace, instead. It looked much merrier than it had any right to, especially given Marina's ridiculous ultra-modern loft. From what he knew of her, he couldn't imagine her stooping to having anything merry in her apartment. Whimsical--potentially. Merry--no.

"What do you want to know?" Maybe he could evade his way out of this one.

He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry, have I not been clear? I want to know what happened back there, you just--you really freaked the fuck out. You were kind of...scary, to be honest."

"He was gonna kill Eliot!" Q looked down. "Fuck." He'd spilled most of the drink in his glass. 

"Yeah, I know, I was there, but you seemed, like--more intense than ever. Like…"

Quentin glared at her, but didn't have the energy to look away. Might as well stay there, with a bourbon-drenched thigh and a giant black hole in his chest. "Like I'm in love with him and the idea of losing him forever feels like...like...like I'll never be happy again, or whole, or every other fucking cliché people come up with for love that you wish were wrong but are actually the most accurate descriptors for this type of situation?"

He drained what was left of his drink and slowly allowed himself to slide down until his head was resting against the seat of the couch. It felt strange, doing it by himself.

Julia was silent for a long moment. Then Quentin felt her hand in his hair, the movement of her blunt nails against his scalp forcing shivers down his neck. "I didn't realize people had written clichés about their loved ones being possessed by ancient evil monsters."

"Jules..."

"Q, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He only had a second's warning before she slapped him on the back of the head. "Why didn't you fucking say anything?"

"Ow!" He didn't have the energy to turn around and give her a good glare. "When do you think I could have done that--before or after our memories were wiped?"

"Well, you've been even mopier than usual...I guess I should have realized. It's hard, you know. What with everyone and everything trying to kill us."

Quentin snorted. It was a moot point, anyway. For the last few days, he had been reliving the moment when Eliot-- _his_ Eliot--had fought his way to the surface and told him he was alive. When he had said the words that Quentin, and only Quentin, could have understood. What Q kept coming back to was this--Eliot could have used a myriad different ways to tell him. He had years of friendship to fall back on, but he had chosen to use their lifetime together, instead.

It had to mean something. It had to mean something that, out of everything between them, Eliot had given him this gift--the gift of remembrance, the gift of recognition. The way he had looked at Q--like Eliot, _his Eliot_ \--had eviscerated Quentin, turning everything on its head. Again. 

"So...this being in love with Eliot. How long has that been going on?"

Quentin sighed. His glass was empty but he didn't have the energy to refill it. It would have meant sitting up, twisting the bottle open, holding it steady...no, he was too tired. Fuck the drink, anyway. "A long time."

Julia resumed softly playing with his hair. "How long?"

Quentin didn't know how to answer that. "Just...a while, all right?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then, "That's...had you told him? Why aren't you two together?"

Quentin snorted. "Have I ever been able to keep something to myself? Yeah, I told him. He--" _Didn't want me. Not like I wanted him._ "--didn't think it was a good idea."

Quentin remembered the moment the memories came flooding back--himself and Ariel, himself and his son, himself and Eliot. Living out decades together in a cabin, and they were--happy. That was the feeling closest to the surface--a pure, clear contentment of being with your person. Arguing, laughing, working...kissing. Fucking. Raising a child together. For a while he couldn't really separate the love he had for Ariel and the love he felt for Eliot, but as he looked at Eliot--back to his young self, his hair dark, his skin unmarked by age, a trace of peach juice on his lips--the feeling of love sharpened, refocused. It was Eliot he wanted to be with. No one else could close to how it had felt to hold Eliot every night, knowing that the next day could be their last in this place. To treasure each moment for the gift that it had been.

And then, in a sentence, Eliot had taken it away. 

"But he loves you, right?"

"Supposedly."

"He does. I'm sure he does. Back at Blackspire, he was trying to save you, right? He wouldn't let you sacrifice yourself..."

Quentin felt like he could drop from eternal exhaustion at any moment. "Yeah, and look what happened." They were both quiet for a bit. "Doesn't matter, though, does it? He's not even here." Just his body and his face and his eyes. When the Monster had touched him with Eliot's hands, it had felt like a cosmic fucking joke. It had felt almost good. Eliot's fingerprints on his neck, Eliot's breath on his face. And all so fucking _wrong._

"Babe. We'll figure it out."

"Will we." 

"Yes. Listen." He felt her shifting behind him, then she was on her knees on the floor, looking at him with that determined expression she'd had since they were kids. She cupped his face. It felt so long since he had been in love with her. Was it his destiny, to go through life loving people who didn't love him back? Not in a way that mattered, anyway. "I'm indestructible. You're...you. You know--hell bent on figuring this out. We've got Margo." She must have read his face correctly. "Yeah, okay, not my favorite person, but she loves Eliot, too, right? She's gonna want to help. You were right. We can _do_ this."

Quentin held her determined gaze and felt his soul crumple in his chest. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve any of them. "Jules…" His voice cracked. He hated himself. "Jules, what if the only way to save Eliot is to…" Quentin felt his breath stutter. He took a deep breath. "I don't know. I don't know that I could go through with it."

Not now that he knew Eliot was alive in there. Not while there was the smallest chance of saving him. Q knew, too, that if it came down to it--he could never be the one to go through with it. Not if he had to somehow continuing living after.

She didn't seem to have an answer for him. She sat back, refilled their glasses, and together, they stayed on the floor, his head on her shoulder, his hand in her hand. 

There had to be a way. There was always a _way_. He just didn't know if he was the man to find it.


End file.
